The day was just like any other day, except for the excessive amount of school busses parked by the Arts Center. I was in philosophy class when I saw the busses pulling up, and I probably missed some pretty important things the professor said while I was paying attention to the big yellow wagons from Walton, Okaloosa and Bay counties. I guess I'll see what I missed when the test comes.

Naturally, when class ended, I wanted to see what was going on; so, like a dirty little scoundrel, I gave my next class a skip and headed off to check it out. (Actually, my next class was canceled, so I went to see what was happening because I had nothing better to do. But it sounds so much more glamorous the other way.)

I found an usher and asked her what was happening. "Amelia Bedelia," she told me. I grunted in approval, not really knowing what that was or why. But when I was offered a chance to see it, I decided I would rather do that than read Dr. Seuss books in the library like I had planned. After a brief chat with someone in charge, I got in free because I had a student ID. Even though I didn't have it with me. Can't argue with that.

After taking a seat inside the theatre, I was hurt and confused to see a guy in a rooster costume on the stage. "This can't be Amelia Bedelia. Isn't Amelia, like, a girl, or something?" But I forgot all about that as soon as I caught on to the plight of the rooster (I think his name was Randy). It was his job to wake everyone up in the morning, but he couldn't, because he lost his voice! His job, and indeed, his status as king of the farm were in jeopardy! I suppose I better not spoil the ending for you, but I think the whole audience (me, a few parents, and several busloads of one-to-six-year-olds) learned a valuable moral from that part of the play. Bravo, Randy.

Much to my delight and my worry that it wouldn't end on time, that wasn't the end of it. One of the four nameless cast members revealed that the next act would be about a Mexican man named Uncle Nacho, and his old straw hat. The delivery was stellar (an the neice was one hot wench, but I probably wasn't supposed to notice that), but I'd like to focus more on the message. In this musical, Uncle Nacho is always angry at his hat because it can't protect him from the sun or rain, so his niece gives him a new one, one that he won't yell at so much. Nacho accepts that it's time to move on, so he gives old hat to a random old man. This story teaches that we should embrace progress, but what does it say about the treatment of elders? Should we just assume old people are poor, and therefore want our trash? I don't think the scriptwriter thought this all the way through.

It was only when they started the sing-along called "My Dog and Me" that I started to feel really out of place. The main character of this part of the performance was a guy pretending to be a dog pretending to be a rapper. However, this was no ordinary rapper-dog-guy; this one wanted nothing more than to have a theater packed with screaming ankle-biters sing along with him. And that's what he got. They turned the lights on for this part, just so I could see what kind of sprawling mass I was sitting with. I swear, if I ever go to another play designed for kiddies, I'm going to make sure no kiddies are actually there.

The final act was none other than the namesake of the show, Amelia Bedelia. In all honesty, Amelia was nothing special compared to the other acts. She may have done a fine job running for mayor, but the real heroes are Randy the Rooster, who recovered his voice just in time to save the day, Uncle Nacho, who learned to live with the past without living in it, and the old man, who put up with Uncle Nacho's old hat. Amelia Bedelia was just an excuse for these other fine stories to gather in one place.

Like I said, the acting was great, so if you're between the ages of four and eight (as the backs of Amelia Bedelia's books suggest), go and see Amelia Bedelia and Company the next chance you get. Just think about the moral before you agree with it. We can't have plays poisoning your minds, kiddies. That's what schools are for.